The Llanfair Adventure
by KylaRyan
Summary: A seemingly simple murder in a small town in Anglesey, Wales, changes Holmes and Watson's lives forever.
1. Prologue I

Disclaimer: I'm not associated with the Doyle Estate, so Holmes and Watson are not mine (nor are Professor Moriaty, Mrs. Hudson, Mary Moristan, etc.). Elizabeth, Margret, Daniela, etc. are mine, however. The plot is also mine.

**Prologue I**

_Ten Years Earlier..._

Margret Mackenzie sighed with relief as the train pulled out of Perth Station, as her year old daughter began to stir in the sling tied around Margret's chest.

"Hush, Elizabeth," she whispered soothingly. "It's goin' to be alright."

At her mother's comforting words, Elizabeth went back to sleep. The exhaustion Margret felt from the heart-pounding race to the train station from the small village that had once been her home overwhelmed her, and she fell asleep herself.

A few hours later, the train pulled into the station in Edinburgh with the shrill shriek of metal against metal, waking Margret from a dreamless slumber. She sighed in relief a second time when the sound of a unhappy child did not assault her ears. Her relief was short-lived, however, for the young girl's rest was disturbed by the hustle and bustle outside the compartment when Margret disembarked from the train. With a sigh, Margret gently rocked her daughter in the sling as she hurriedly rushed to catch the next train to London.

Unlike the journey to Edinburgh, Margret ended up having to share the compartment with two men who were traveling together. Not that Margret minded it very much, as she sensed that these strangers would like jump to her aid if her husband did manage to catch the train that went straight to London from Perth.

_James was right, I should never have married him...._

"Excuse me, Miss?" a male voice asked cautiously, interupting her thoughts.

Margret looked up with a start into kind hazel eyes.

"Sorry to bother you, but we've arrived in London," the voice explained, and Margret realised was that the voice belonged to one of the two men who'd traveled with her in the compartment.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, "I'm sure that I would have missed my stop if you hadn't bothered me."

As she stood up, the man took her bags without a word, and helped her off the train.

His companion had already called a cab, and was waiting impatiently for him with their bags.

"Hurry up, Watson," he called. "I promised your wife that I would have you back home before sunrise."

The man ignored his companion's shout, as he handed back Margret her bags.

"Watson!"

"I think your friend wants to speak to you, sir," Margret observed with a slight smile.

The man chuckled, as he explained, "He just wants to get back home so that he can confirm a theory."

"He sounds a lot like my brother," Margret observed drily, as she spotted an olive-skinned woman getting out of a nearby cab.

"Margret!" the woman called, spotting Margret. Margret said farewell to the kind man with hazel eyes, thanking him once again for helping her out of the train, and strode over to the olive-skinned woman.

"Daniela, how are you?" Margret asked, hugging her best friend and sister-in-law.

"Much better than you, Margret, I'll wager," Daniela replied. Spotting the sling around Margret's chest, she added, "And this must be Elizabeth."

Bright emerald eyes peeked out from the sling, as Elizabeth looked around at her surroundings from the safety of her sling. Her observations were interupted by a wide yawn.

Daniela giggled slightly before she exclaimed, "Look at me, I'm forcing you to stand around and listen to me jabber on about things, when you are worn out from a harrowing journey to safety. Come along, let's get your things into the cab quickly, before you fall asleep right on your feet, Margret."

Margret hid a tired smile at her friend's behavior, but she had to admit that she was exhausted, especially when the rocking of the cab lulled her back to sleep....


	2. Prologue II

A/N: Thanks to Metempsychosis (friend of mine from another site) for being my beta. I know it's short, but please bear with me, I'll have the final prologue up tomorrow to make up for the brevity. And for making you all wait for the story to reach the present, eh?

Disclaimer: I'm not associated with the Doyle Estate, so Holmes and Watson are not mine.

**Prologue II**

_Five Years Later..._

Elizabeth, now six years old, stared wide-eyed at the drama unfolding outside the closet her mother had hidden her in, just before that terrible man forced his way into her mother's bedroom.

"Margret, you are a hard woman to find," the man growled, looking around the room for something--or someone.

"I didn't want you to find me, John," Margret pointed out. "Now leave, before--"

"Before you what? Call for your brother?" snarled John. "Read the newspaper lately, Margret? Your dear brother is dead!"

Tears blurred Margret's vision for an instant before she managed to reign in her emotions.

"He chose to break the law," John continued to rant, oblivous to the effect his words were having on his wife. "He chose evil, and it killed him."

"Why should you care about what happened to James?" Margret cried out suddenly. "You never cared anything about--"

"Because I didn't know he was a criminal mastermind, Margret," John interjected, turning his back on Margret to inspect the contents of her writing desk.

What happened next happened so fast, Elizabeth didn't know what had occured until it was over. And even then, she wasn't sure what exactly _had_ happened.

Instinctively, she knew that she didn't want to stay in that closet any longer...

~*~

_excerpt from the _Times_, May 31, 1891_

Last night, around eight P.M., Scotland Yard was called to the scene of what is believed to be a domestic disturbance turned murder. According to Inspector Arthur Pennington, Mr. John Mackenzie was fighting with his wife, Mrs. Margret Mackenzie, when she grabbed a loaded pistol and fatally shot him in the chest, before turning the gun on herself. When asked about the current whereabouts and health of the Mackenzie's six year old daughter, Elizabeth Veronica Iris Natalie Mackenzie, Inspector Pennington refused to comment...


	3. The Unexpected Client

A/N: And now, for the actual story!

Disclaimer: I'm not associated with the Doyle Estate, so Holmes and Watson are not mine.

**Chapter One: The Unexpected Client**

_Holmes_

The sound of little feet on the stairs (accompanied by an exceptionally violent screech from Mrs. Hudson) arosed me from my musing on what I should get my brother--if anything--for his birthday(1) next month. Moments later, a mud-caked Irregular burst into the sitting room, tracking mud all over the carpeting in his wake. A second lad entered behind the first, also covered in mud.

Despite the mud, I was able to identify the first lad as one of the younger Irregulars, Campbell, from the large scar on his left wrist. I did not recognise the second lad, for I had never met him before. A sideways glance at Watson told me that he was unable to identify either lad, perhaps he could not see Campbell's scarred wrist from where he sat at his desk?

"Campbell, why are you here?" I demanded gruffly, giving the lad a stern look. "Doctor Watson said your scar had healed enough that you no longer needed any medication to prevent infection."

"Oi know, Mister 'Olmes, but tha' is not wot Oi'm 'ere 'bout," the lad replied.

"Then why are you here, Campbell?" Watson asked, before I could ask the question myself.

"'E's 'ere 'cause Oi wanted ta become a Irregular loik 'im," the second lad replied.

"And you are?" I asked.

"Evin, Mister 'Olmes."

"Well, Evin, why do you want to be an Irregular?"

Evin apparently hadn't expected me to ask him that, and he thought about it.

"Oi can't join Scotland Yard, but Oi still want ta fight crime, so Oi figured tha' yew'd give me a chance ta do just tha'," he replied finally. I could tell he was holding something back from me, but I figured that it wouldn't be worth my time to force it out of him right then, so I held my tongue on the matter for the time being.

"I won't make any promises, but I will give you a chance to prove to me that you are worthy of being a Baker Street Irregular," I declared.

"Thank yew, Mister 'Olmes, Oi won't let yew down, just yew see!" Evin exclaimed. In his excitement, he actually hugged me, much to my biographer's amusement. I glared at him over Evin's head, as I didn't see anything amusing in being hugged by a mud-coated lad.

Someone knocked on the front door, just after I had finally managed to remove Evin from my person. I was eying the mud he'd left behind on my clothes when Mrs. Hudson announced that an Inspector Argall wanted to see me. I have to credit the woman, the glare she sent me when she saw the muddy carpet left no doubt who would be cleaning the carpet if we did not want an increase in the rent.

More interested in what would bring the highly independent Inspector Iagan C. Argall to seek my help, I decided that clean clothes could wait.

~xxx~

"Inspector Argall, clearly you are not here to seek my help concerning a case, so what brings you here to Baker Street?" I demanded as soon as the Inspector had introduced himself to Watson, who had never met the Welshman before.

"So Doctor Watson's romanticism does not exaggerate your powers of deduction, then," Argall observed, not quite hiding his surprise at my deduction, before answering my question.

"It concerns my late cousin, Ian Meriweather Argall, Mister Holmes," he replied.

"You question the coroner's ruling that he died of natural causes?" I guessed. Argall stared wide-eyed in open amazement at me, clearly not expecting me to be aware of his cousin's mysterious death. "I have to admit that I found the circumstances around your cousin's death suspcious and looked into his death at the time."

I held up a hand to prevent Argall from replying to my admission, before adding, "However, I was only able to shed very little light on the events surrounding Ian Argall's death, as I was unable to leave London at the time, due to Watson having come down with a terrible cold."

"Are you willing to resume your investigations into my cousin's death, Mister Holmes?" the Inspector asked.

"Why me? Can't you get someone at Scotland Yard to look into his death?" I demanded, still mystified by Inspector Argall's decision to come to me for help, something completely out of character for him. I could feel Watson's eyes on me, wondering what I was getting at.

"I would, but I have no solid proof to have the case re-opened offically," Argall admitted.

"And that is where I come in," I mused. "You need someone to find proof of foul play, so that you can re-open the case."

Argall nodded.

"Th' next train fer Llanfairpwll(2) leaves th' station in fourty minutes, Mister 'Olmes," Evin piped up, startling Argall, who hadn't noticed the two mud-covered lads, for the sofa hid them from view as they sat quietly by the fire to dry off their mud-soaked clothes and bodies. I was more startled by the fact that Evin knew where Ian Argall's murder--if it was murder, as I suspected it was--had taken place.

Evin must have sensed my surprise, for he added, "Oi read th' paper whene'er Oi can, Mister 'Olmes. Oi 'member readin' 'bout th' Inspector's cousin."

Recalling the promise I'd made just minutes earlier, I made a decision.

"Evin, are you ready to prove yourself worthy of being a Baker Street Irregular?" I asked.

"Holmes..." Watson began, his displeasure at what I was up to evident in the way he said my name.

But it was too late to turn back now.

"Yew want me ta go with yew ta Llanfairpwll?" Evin asked excitedly.

"As long as you don't hug me again, yes," I replied.

"Oi'd better go an' pack my things right away, Mister 'Olmes, if yer plannin' ta take tha' train Oi mentioned," Evin remarked. "Oi'll be right back, don't try ta leave without me!"

And with that, Evin scampered out of the room, Campbell close behind him.

"I need to go and wire Ian's sister," Argall announced. "Should I tell her to expect Evin as well as you two?"

I nodded.

"Very well then. Keep me informed of your progress, if you would," Argall said, taking his leave of us.

As soon as Argall was gone, Watson exclaimed, "Holmes, what are you thinking? We can't take Evin with us to Wales!"

"Why not?" I asked, for I failed to see what the problem was.

"Evin surely has a family here in London, who will miss him!"

"He does not."

"How can you possibly know that, you've only just met him today?"

"Evin was covered in the same amount and type of mud as Campbell, who is an orphan as you well know."

"So?"

"If Evin had a family, he would not be able to get so coated in mud as he was."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm just wasting my breath trying to convince you that Evin shouldn't come along?"

"Because you are."

* * *

1. I have no idea when Mycroft's birthday is presumed to be, so I'm submitting the idea that it is in June.

2. Llanfairpwll is a small town in Anglesey, Wales. Its full name, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, is Welsh for 'St Mary's church in the hollow of the white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the church of St Tysilio of the red cave'. Originally called Llanfair Pwllgwyngyll ('The Mary church by the pool near the white hazels'), it was renamed in the 19th Century (source: BBC H2G2).


	4. A Young Writer

A/N: Thanks to Metempsychosis (friend of mine from another site) for being my beta. Please be patient, this story wants me to be a slow updater.

Disclaimer: I'm not associated with the Doyle Estate, so Holmes and Watson are not mine.

**Chapter Two: A Young Writer**

_Watson_

Evin met us at the door ten minutes later, an ancient valise in his hand.

"Wot's it loik?" he asked me eagerly as Holmes waved down a cab.

"Riding a train?" I asked, not sure what Evin was asking about.

Apparently it wasn't about riding trains, for he shook his head.

"No, not tha'," he said, "solvin' cases wif Mister 'Olmes."

"Oh, well it's...it's like nothing else in the world," I replied, though I felt that my words didn't do it justice.

Evin seemed to be satisfied with my answer, though, for he nodded, as he helped me carry Holmes' luggage into the cab.

Once we had settled into the cab, Holmes ordered the cab to head to the train station, promising the driver a whole sovereign if he got there in fifteen minutes.

He must have needed the money badly, for we got there in ten.

* * *

_Holmes_

As soon as the train pulled from the station, Watson pulled out his journal and a pencil out of his valise. I snickered when I noticed that Evin had pulled out his own journal and a pencil out of his own bag.

"What's so funny, Holmes?" Watson asked, unaware of his little shadow. But Evin had realised what had happened, and snickered too.

Watson turned to look at him and rolled his eyes.

"Very funny, Holmes," he grumbled, figuring that I had told Evin to mimic him, going so far as to give the lad one of his old journals and a pencil.

"Is there some rule tha' states tha' it is impossible fer a lad loik me ta 'ave 'is own journal?" Evin demanded.

"You can write?" Watson asked in surprised.

Evin nodded.

"Oi 'ave e'en written my own stories, Doctor," he admitted, "not as good as yers, Oi 'ave ta say."

Clearly curious as to what sort of stories Evin had authored, Watson asked if he could read one of his stories.

* * *

_Watson_

Evin was excited to hear that I was interested in reading one of his stories, as he pulled a second journal out of his valise and handed it to me.

The journal's leather cover was old and worn, the edges blackened by fire. I carefully flipped open the journal, and in a child's hand--I assumed it to be Evin's--was written the words 'The Ghost of Whitehall by Evin Mackenzie'.

"A ghost story, eh?" I asked him.

"Yep, a really scary one, Doctor," Evin informed me. "It gave _me_ nightmares after Oi wrote it."


	5. The Child and the Lady

A/N: Evin's dark secret is revealed in part, and it is so much clearer to you, the reader.

**Chapter Three: The Child and the Lady**  
_Watson_  
Evin was right about how frightening his ghost story was, it sent shivers up my own spine--and not just at the thought that a mere child of eleven had written this.  
"What inspired you to write this, Evin?" I asked once I had finished reading it, as I was handing the journal back to him.  
"Oi saw it 'appen, Doctor," Evin admitted. "Th' young lad in Mylock's story(1) is me."  
My stomach twisted at the thought that the young lad in the seat beside me had witnessed his mother kill her husband and then herself.  
"You mean, you saw your mother..." I began, but the idea was too terrible to voice.  
"What did she do?" Holmes asked, unable to deduce the horrid details of the truth from our vague references.  
"She shot my dad an' 'erself right in front o' me, Mister 'Olmes," Evin replied, answering both questions with a single sentence. "It 'appened not far from White'all."  
"I don't remember ever reading about it," I remarked.  
"Nor do I," my friend added.  
"Oi was six at th' time it 'appened," Evin said slowly, "Which Oi think means it 'appened in 1891."  
That explained why neither Holmes nor I could recall reading about Evin's parents--we were both busy dealing with the aftermath of Reichenbach Falls at the time.  
I was thankful that it was at that moment that the conductor called out a warning that the next stop was Llanfairpwll, for I did not want to discuss this dark subject any longer, and I suspected that it would be detrimental to Evin's well-being to continue the discussion.

* * *

_Holmes_  
As we stepped out of the station, Watson whispered sternly in my ear, "Holmes, I will not have you talking to Evin about his parents' deaths while we are in Llanfairpwll."  
Before I could reply to my friend's paternal demand, a woman's voice caught my attention.  
"Sherlock Holmes!"  
The voice belonged to a stout, young woman of Welsh breeding, her strong Welsh accent the product of a life spent entirely in a single place, standing beside a large cart.  
"Miss Argall, I presume," I said, grabbing the woman's attention. "I am Sherlock Holmes, and my companions are Doctor John Watson and Evin Mackenzie."  
"Yew don't look a thing loik Inspector Argall," Evin promptly observed, much to my amusement and Watson's embarrassment.  
"Evin!" he exclaimed.  
"But, Doctor, it's true," the lad insisted.  
"It's alright," Miss Argall remarked, with a fond glance at Evin. "I'm sure he didn't mean any offense by it."  
"As long as yew don't insist tha' Oi stay out o' th' way o' Mister 'Olmes' investigation, Oi didn't," Evin declared, as Watson tried to hide a grimace of pain--his old war wounds were probably bothering him due to the damp, chilly weather.  
Miss Argall simply smiled, as she replied, "Oh, don't you fret about that, Evin, I wouldn't even dare to insist on such a thing."  
"Now that we've got that out of the way, I would dearly like to get started on my investigation," I announced, knowing that Watson wouldn't speak up for himself, as selfless as he tended to be.  
"Oh, where have my manners gone?" Miss Argall exclaimed.  
Evin muttered a theory as to where her manners had gone, but I was unable to catch precisely what he said. Watson heard him quite clearly, however, as he blushed a deep red and rebuked Evin for whatever it was he said.  
I made a mental note to ask Watson what Evin had said later, as the huge Clydesdale hitched to the cart began to trudge down the road, away from the train station, towards the Argall family home.

* * *

(1) Mylock is the name of the narrator in Evin's story, "The Ghost of Whitehall".


	6. Pitching the Tents

A/N: Surprise Ending to this chapter!

**Chapter Four: Pitching the Tents**  
_Holmes_  
I was thankful for the relative brevity of the ride from the train station to the Argall family home, not only because Watson's war wounds were bothering him, but also because Miss Argall was quite the gossip. She happily talked all of our ears off, chattering on and on about how the village had had a terrible rat problem until Doctor Blevins discovered that strychnine was more effective than cats, et cetera, et cetera.  
Once we had arrived, we discovered that there was a bit of a logistical problem--Miss Argall had expected Watson and I to have no problems with sharing the guest bedroom.  
Watson was not amused in the slightest when I reminded him that I rarely slept while on a case anyways. However, he did find Evin amusing when the lad asked where he was expected to sleep.  
"Am Oi goin' ta be sleepin' wif th' Doctor an' Mister 'Olmes, ma'am?" Evin had asked, adding, "'Cause Mister 'Olmes snores terribly."  
I do not snore. Watson, on the other hand, does snore. I should know, I've heard him.  
Miss Argall smiled, her well-bred manners the only thing that kept her from laughing aloud at Evin's words herself.  
"Oh, no, I wasn't planning on that," she said. "I was thinking that you might like to sleep in my brother's old room, with a bed _all_ to yourself."  
"Really?" Evin asked excitedly. "Oi've ne'er 'ad a bed all ta myself afore."  
At least someone was happy with the sleeping arrangements.

* * *

_Watson_  
Holmes claimed that my snoring kept him all that first night in Llanfairpwll, but I knew him better than that. Especially since I had had terrible nightmares that woke me up several times in the darkness of that night-shrouded bedroom, and each time I woke up, Holmes' grey eyes, filled with concern for me, glittered beside me in the moonlight that shone in thru the window. He never pressed me to talk about my nightmares, which I was thankful for.  
Unfortunately for me, however, Holmes wasn't the only one aware of my nightmares. Evin, whose room was next to ours, had heard my cries and had come running....

* * *

_Evin_  
Doctor Watson want'd ta 'ave me tell some o' th' story, so Oi've let 'im write excerpts from my journal, startin' from tha' first night we were at tha' farm. Oi 'ad a 'ard time gettin' ta sleep tha' first night, since Oi wasn't at all used ta sleepin' alone, but eventually, Oi did get ta sleep, since Oi recall wakin' up in th' middle o' th' night. Oi wasn't sure at first wot 'ad woken me, but when Oi 'eard th' doctor cry out again, Oi realized tha' it 'ad been 'is nightmare cries tha' 'ad disturb'd my sleep. Recallin' wot Campbell always did when my own nightmares got tha' bad, Oi left my bed fer theirs.  
"Wot's th' matter, Mister 'Olmes?" Oi demanded as soon as Oi 'ad enter'd th' room.  
"Evin, go back to bed," Mister 'Olmes commanded me, ignorin' my question.  
"Not 'til yew tell me wot's wrong wif th' doctor," Oi insisted. "An' e'en then, Oi still might not."  
Oi 'eard a sigh, an' Oi knew Oi'd won this fight.  
"Watson's just having a nightmare, there isn't anything you can do that I am not already doing," Mister 'Olmes replied.  
Oi doubt'd tha' 'e was doin' e'erything possible ta 'elp th' doctor tha' Oi could do, an' Oi said as much.  
"Oh, and what do you think I am not doing that you can do, Evin?" Mister 'Olmes asked.  
"Well, yew 'aven't sung 'im a lullaby," Oi pointed out.  
"Watson is not an infant," Mister 'Olmes objected. "I am not sure that he would appreciate being treated as one."  
"It doesn't 'ave ta be an actual lullaby, Mister 'Olmes, just so long as it's something _soothin'_(1)," Oi clarified, just as Oi recall'd something from one o' th' doctor's stories. "Don't yew play on yer violin when 'e 'as a bad dream at Baker Street?"  
"Yes, but I don't have my violin with me here."  
"Oi've got a lovely singin' voice, at least tha' is wot Oi've told," Oi replied. O' course, th' only ones ta 'ear me sing were Campbell an' th' other Irregulars, but surely th' ol' sayin' Oi'd once 'eard someone say 'bout the mouths of babes(2) was true?  
"But do you know any songs that would be soothing?" Mister 'Olmes asked.  
"'Stille Nacht'," Oi replied, after a moment's deep thinkin'.  
"'Silent Night'?" 'e echo'd, translatin' th' song's title in th' process.  
Oi simply nodded my 'ead in affirmation. Mister 'Olmes thought fer a moment afore 'e shrugged 'is shoulders an' told me ta go ahead an' sing.

* * *

1. I got this idea from my mom, who always sang "Be Not Afraid" to me in lieu of a lullaby when I woke from a nightmare as a young child.  
2. Evin is referring to Psalm 8:2--"From the mouth of infants and nursing babes You have established strength Because of Your adversaries, To make the enemy and the revengeful cease." (New American Standard Bible)


	7. Why Cardiff?

**A/N:** I've been having a hard time with this chapter, but I do hope that I've fixed all the issues I was having with it. Virtual cookies to anyone who can correctly guess who's getting a cameo in the next chapter. I'll give you a hint--it's not someone from Sherlock Holmes....

**Chapter Five: Why Cardiff?**  
_Watson_  
After Evin sang me to sleep, I did not wake until late the following morning, to find myself the focus of an intense emerald gaze.  
"Evin?" I asked, confused by the lad's presence and by the notable lack of my friend's presence. "What are you doing here? And where is Mister Holmes?"  
"Mister 'Olmes 'as gone back ta town ta speak wif th' Llanfair coroner 'bout Ian Argall's death," Evin replied. "Did my singin' 'elp yew any, Doctor?"  
I smiled at him.  
"Yes, it did, Evin," I informed him.  
"Mister 'Olmes says Oi should sing more often," Evin informed me with not a little pride. "But 'e also told me tha' Oi need ta make sure tha' yew eat properly while 'e's away."  
I chuckled at that.  
"Did he really?" I asked.  
Evin nodded.  
"An' 'e also said tha' if yew don't eat properly, Oi won't get any supper tonight either," he added.  
"Well then, I'll have to make sure to get something to eat then," I remarked, getting up out of the bed to dress.

* * *

_Holmes_  
When I returned to the Argall family farmstead that evening, I was in a foul mood. The coroner had been unable to help me, and ransacking the morgue's files only landed me a couple hours in a rat-infested jail cell before the local representatives of law and (dis)order would believe that I was who I said I was. And after that, the day still did not improve one whit.  
The constable who'd arrested me was clearly afraid I was in town to reveal that he'd killed his own wife and was promptly trying to do his best to interfere with my investigation by "helping" me until I informed him that accidental deaths are not criminal unless the circumstances surrounding the death are concealed from the police. I also explained that I was _not_ in town to look into his wife's death--a clear-cut case of what is sometimes referred to as an act of God(1)--but to investigate the death of Ian Argall.  
Upon which I was informed that Ian Argall had died of strychnine poisoning.  
"Probably killed himself, Mister Holmes," the constable declared. "Everyone in Llanfair knows that his sister would never let him marry. She'd be a right penniless witch if he did."  
Unfortunately, I was unable to verify the constable's claim, as the Argalls trusted all matters of a legal nature to a legal firm in Cardiff.  
Why Cardiff? The constable couldn't say, though he thought it might have been because one of the partners of the firm was Ian's mother's eldest brother.  
Before leaving Llanfair, I sent a wire to Inspector Argall in London with a request to inform the family's legal firm in Cardiff of my investigation and to make sure that I was allowed access to any sensitive family document I required to see. I also sent a wire to the legal firm myself to inform them that I would be there the day after tomorrow.

* * *

_Evin_  
When Mister 'Olmes returned from town, 'e was in a terrible mood. Oi didn't need ta ask 'im ta know tha' 'e'd made very little progress on th' case. Nor was Oi foolish enough ta dare ta ask 'im 'bout 'is day, but th' doctor risk 'is life by askin' Mister 'Olmes 'ow th' case was goin'.  
Oi'm _still_ not sure if 'e's suicidal or something else entirely.

* * *

_Holmes_  
"Well, I did solve one murder today, Watson," I growled in reply to his well-meaning question. "Unfortunately, it wasn't Ian Argall's murder."  
Despite my foul mood, I couldn't help a small smirk at the mixture of confusion, concern, amusement, and annoyance that my answer sparked in my friend's face.  
"Tha' gossiping constable's wife?" Evin guessed to my surprise, completely erasing my smirk.  
"Yes, but how did you figure that out?" I demanded.  
"People talk an awful lot when they don't know they're bein' spied on."  
"So that's where you disappeared to," Watson declared with wide-eyed amazement.  
"Yep, Oi figured tha' yew could dress an' feed yerself wif out any o' my 'elp," Evin declared. "An' yew shouldn't be so un'appy, Mister 'Olmes, yew did make _some_ progress today."  
I glared at the Irregular-in-training(2) as Watson demanded that I tell him what Evin was talking about.  
"Ask Evin, he seems to know everything I know," I grumbled as I lit my pipe.  
Only to have him snatch my lit pipe right out of my mouth!

1. Insurance term that may have been in use during the Victorian Era. An act of God is when something happens that can't be blamed on a human entity--like when a car is totaled by a tree falling on top of it, for example.  
2. Holmes' handwriting is quite difficult to read, even at the best of times, but his description of Evin here may not be what he actually said, for his handwriting was especially illegible (most likely as a result of his foul mood) here, forcing me to guess what exactly he wrote.~JHW


End file.
